Who Said That First?: The curious origins of common words and phrases

Summary

Believe it or not, this is probably the first book to attempt to identify the original sources of some of the English language's most common expressions. We might think we know who first said 'famous for fifteen minutes', 'annus horribilis', 'the cold war' and 'let them eat cake'. It's 'a no brainer', you might say, but Max Cryer has a surprise or two in store for you. 'I kid you not'. In this very readable book, he explores the origins of hundreds of expressions we use and hear every day – and comes up with some surprising findings. Never 'economical with the truth', he might just have 'the last laugh'.

Written in Max Cryer’s delightfully witty style, WHO SAID THAT FIRST? is a wonderful book to dip into or settle a friendly dispute. Remember, good books are 'few and far between', and 'you get what you pay for'. So buy this book, 'go ahead, make my day'.

The inspiration for WHO SAID THAT FIRST?

During his years working in Hollywood, Max Cryer became acquainted with Lucille Ball – at the time the world’s most popular comedy actress. One day when they were having lunch together, Max complimented her on the amount of pleasure she gave, and Lucille replied: ‘I would be absolutely nothing without the writers. It’s all to do with the way things are written – they create the springboard for me.’

The remark stayed with Max for years, and he realised it was true. Very often the person who said an effective or memorable line didn’t actually create it. As Lucille Ball had said, the person in the background should have the credit – but was usually invisible.

This is was what motivated him to seek not just popular expressions – but who had actually originated them.

INTRODUCTION

After seeing a performance of Hamlet, a little old lady supposedly remarked, ‘So many quotes!’ But she could well have said the same thing at any other point in her day. We are surrounded by quotes in everyday speech, not necessarily from Shakespeare.

Other bright minds have come up with expressions we now take for granted as part of the English language, and which we use freely in vernacular speech. But unlike Hamlet, the originators of many of our most useful second-hand remarks go uncredited.

Who said it first?

This collection sets out to credit – as far as it’s possible to do so – the people who actually created many familiar terms in common use. For example, poor Ernest Dowson is all but forgotten, but author Margaret Mitchell read his 1891 poem ‘Non Sum Qualis’ and brought one phrase from that poem to the attention of millions. The phrase that caught her eye was ‘...gone with the wind’. (In 1867, Dowson also wrote another familiar phrase: ‘...the days of wine and roses’.)

And who remembers Mrs Daeda Wilcox? In 1887 she told her realtor husband about an attractive name she heard mentioned on a train as she was returning to her home in Los Angeles. Mr Wilcox liked it and immediately registered the land he owned nearby as – Hollywood.

Sometimes it has to be acknowledged that an expression became known because someone other than the originator introduced an existing term to a wider public, either in print or by exclamation.

Only a limited number of people would know of Sir Edward Spencer Ford, but in 1992 he wrote a letter to the Queen making a kindly comment on the difficult year she’d had. He included a variation on a phrase taken from the title of a 1667 poem by John Dryden.

In a speech soon afterwards, the Queen said:

1992 is not a year I shall look back on with undiluted pleasure. In the words of one of my more sympathetic correspondents, it has turned out to be an annus horribilis.

The term ‘annus horribilis’ hit the headlines immediately, clearly because of the impact of Elizabeth Windsor saying it, rather than Dryden or Sir Edward Spencer Ford.

This collection does not claim to include every expression in common usage that arose from a specified person – there are too many to cover in one book. Two major (and rich) sources of English expressions – the Bible and the works of Shakespeare – have generally been excluded, partly because they have been covered many times before. One exception can be found under ‘Red Sky’, and Bernard Levin’s brilliant condensation of just some of Shakespeare’s expressions is reproduced by permission in section entitled ‘The last word’.

Some of our favourite and frequently used expressions date back to ancient civilisations and an impressive number come from 19th-century literary luminaries. Dickens, Thackeray and Scott have all left small but active landmarks on our speech – but then so has party-girl Mandy Rice-Davies, who simply said, ‘Well he would, wouldn’t he?’

Sometimes there are gentle surprises: ‘brunch’ was invented in England in 1896; Graham Greene first linked ‘fame’ with ‘aphrodisiac’; ‘iron curtain’ had been in use for 40 years before Winston Churchill said it; we have P.G. Wodehouse to thank for ‘straight from the horse’s mouth’; and H. Rider Haggard for ‘She who must be obeyed’.

There is no evidence at all that Queen Victoria ever said ‘We are not amused’, or that Marie Antoinette said ‘Let them eat cake’. But Andy Warhol did say that everyone would be ‘famous for 15 minutes’.

Where did he say it, and when? Read on...

A

A–1

In London in 1716, Edward Lloyd began publishing a weekly Lloyd’s List of shipping information. Ships were given two symbols: a letter of the alphabet used to classify ships’ hulls, attached to one of the initials G, M or B, signifying the ship’s equipment as ‘Good, ‘Middling’ or ‘Bad.’

In 1776 the quality of equipment symbols G,M,B were replaced by the numbers 1,2,3,4,5, still in combination with A,E,I,O,U. Thus A–1 became a designation of the greatest excellence.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Born around 50–45BC, the Latin poet Sextus Aurelius Propertius in one of his Elegies pronounced that ‘Passion is always warmer towards absent lovers’ (Semper in absentes felicior aestus amantes).

The phrase first appeared in English 1500 years later as the title of a poem by an anonymous writer. This poem and others on the theme of absence were included in the collection called Poetical Rhapsody (1602), put together by Elizabethan poet (and spy) Francis Davison.

But the expression only began to assume the status of a proverb after 1844, following the publication of Englishman Thomas Haynes Bayly’s poem ‘Isle of Beauty’. The stanza which drew attention:

What would not I give to wander

Where my old companions dwell?

Absence makes the heart grow fonder:

Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!

Bayly never knew how widely used the phrase would become – his poem appeared over a decade after he had died.

See also Out of sight, out of mind

Accidentally on purpose

Combining as it does two normally contradictory terms, ‘accidentally on purpose’ is a fine example of an oxymoron. Its first known appearance was in the memoirs of prolific Irish writer and poet Sydney, Lady Morgan, published in 1862. Her use of quotation marks suggests the phrase may have already been known to her:

Dermody neglected the order–

perhaps ‘accidentally on purpose’.

(The) affluent society

As far back as AD115, the Roman historian Cornelius Tacitus acknowledged that

Many who seem to be struggling with adversity are happy; many, amid great affluence, are utterly miserable.

So the awareness wasn’t new. After World War II, Canadian-born economist John Kenneth Galbraith contemplated the growing prosperity and materialism of America – the increasing ownership of cars, televisions, home appliances etc., but observed that these consumer ‘needs’ could be considered trivial against the importance of larger and less well financed public systems.

He coined a term intended to be ironic – ‘the affluent society’, which in 1958 became the title of his widely discussed book. In later usage, the term lost its ironic overtones and simply came to mean general prosperity.

Agree to disagree

John Wesley, the English theologian who developed Methodism, had doctrinal differences with the evangelist George Whitefield, yet respected the other man’s strength of belief and firmness of opinion. When Whitefield died in 1770, Wesley said in his sermon:

There are many doctrines of a less essential nature ... In these we may think and let think; we may ‘agree to disagree’. But, meantime, let us hold fast the essentials...

Wesley’s use of quote marks suggests the phrase was a term already in use, but his sermon marks its first known appearance in print.

John Wesley and his brother Charles were also at odds over religious matters. Charles Wesley gave us an alternative version, replacing ‘disagree’ with ‘differ’. In 1787 Charles wrote to John: ‘Stand to your own proposal, let us agree to differ.’

All dressed up and nowhere to go

A lament of the socially isolated, the term originated as ‘no place to go’, from two separate songs in 1913. The Indiana University holds ‘All dressed up and no place to go’ by Joseph Daley and Thomas Allen, though it is not heard of much elsewhere. But the other song from the same year, ‘All Dressed Up And No Place To Go’, music by Silvio Hein, words by Benjamin Hapgood Burt, was a huge success in the Broadway show Beauty Shop (1914), as sung by Raymond Hitchcock.

When you’re all dressed up and no place to go,

Life seems weary, dreary and slow. My heart has ached and bled for the tears I’ve shed, When I’d no place to go unless I went back to bed.

All of a doodah

American songwriter Stephen Foster’s song officially called ‘Gwine to run all night’ was published in 1850, telling of a haphazard race meeting near a workingmen’s tent city. The opening line introduced a famous catchphrase with no particular meaning: ‘Camptown ladies sing dis song, doo dah, doo dah.’

A century later P.G. Wodehouse launched an adaptation of the phrase into the language, having created a meaning for it signifying that someone (or it could be something) was being distinctly aberrant in behaviour. In Pigs have Wings (1952) we are told that Galahad Threepwood observed that Lord Clarence Emsworth had the look of a dying duck and was clearly in distress:

Poor old Clarence was patently all of a doodah.

All over bar the shouting

Although the meaning is clear – that the conclusion of a matter appears evident – the actual genesis of the expression is clouded. It could have arisen in the context of 19th-century sports, or politics.

It appeared in print for the first time in 1842. Charles James Apperley, born in Plas-Grenow, Wales, began writing for The Sporting Magazine in 1821, often using the pen-name Nimrod. His 1842 book The Life of a Sportsman, while depicting a horse-racing situation, carried the first printing of what became a vernacular term:

‘I’ll bet an even hundred on the young one,’ roars O’Hara. ‘Done with you,’ says Lord Marley. ‘I’ll bet 6 to 4 on the young one,’ roars Nightingale, with a small telescope to his eye; no one answered. ‘It’s all over but shouting,’ exclaims Lilly; ‘Antonio’s as dead as a hammer.’

This was the forerunner of the variants ‘all over bar the shouting’ and ‘all over except the shouting’.

All’s fair in love and war

The centuries have smoothed out the syntax a little, but the meaning is clear in John Lyly’s Euphues, the Anatomy of Wit (1579). Written in the elaborate and artificial style (euphuism) that was eventually named after it, there is the line:

Anye impietie may lawfully be committed in loue, which is lawlesse.

All’s right with the world

In 1841 the people of Asolo in Northern Italy were rather offended by a series of poems depicting a poor orphan girl wandering through the less savoury areas of their town and describing in a matter-of-fact manner the seamy sights she encountered.

Poet Robert Browning created this girl in his poem ‘Pippa Passes’. The scandalous goings-on Pippa recounts (including those of Ottima the adulteress) are long forgotten, but the line in which Pippa’s optimism transcends her hard life has remained in collective memory:

God’s in his Heaven – All’s right with the world.

This line is sometimes misquoted as ‘All’s well with the world’.

All the things I really like to do are either illegal, immoral, or fattening

All the things I really like to do are either immoral, illegal, or fattening.

In use, the order of the first two adjectives is sometimes reversed. Comedy movie actor W.C. Fields repeated a version of the line the following year, as the sheriff Honest John Hoxley in Six of a Kind.

(The) almighty dollar

British writer Ben Jonson recognised that the regard for wealth often engendered a quasi-religious respect when he wrote to the Countess of Rutland in 1616:

Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold,

And almost every vice, almightie gold.

Two centuries later the American writer Washington Irving travelled through the riverbank settlements of Louisiana and, noting their ‘contented poverty’, wrote that:

The almighty dollar, that great object of universal devotion throughout our land, seems to have no genuine devotees in these peculiar villages.

When Irving’s remarks were published in 1836, a new catchphrase entered the language.

Annus horribilis

When Queen Elizabeth II used the expression during a speech at the Guildhall, referring to the year 1992, its aptness and novelty caught immediate attention. Her use of the expression was widely quoted and the term was often attributed to the Queen herself. But the conduit which brought it to her, and the English-speaking world at large, was sidelined by commentators who overlooked one part of the Queen’s speech. She said:

1992 is not a year I shall look back on with undiluted pleasure. In the words of one of my more sympathetic correspondents, it has turned out to be an ‘annus horribilis’.

The expression was a modern reversal of the term known in the 1600s and used by John Dryden as the title of his 1667 poem ‘Annus Mirabilis, the Year of Wonders, 1666’.

Prior to the Queen’s speech, the ‘Mirabilis’ version had been seen occasionally as an expression in newspapers and as the title of a Philip Larkin poem in 1967. But the Queen’s ‘sympathetic correspondent’, Sir Edward Spencer Ford, who had been secretary to her father King George, reversed the term in a letter to the Queen, which she quoted in her Guildhall speech.

When Sir Edward Spencer Ford died, the Guardian described him as the person who gave ‘the Queen’s worst year in office its Latin tag’.

Any port in a storm

The idiom suggests taking any chance that offers itself, especially when connected to storms at sea. But the expression’s first outing in print involved ‘ports’ of a rather more ribald kind. The words come from John Cleland’s Fanny Hill – Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure (1749). One of Fanny’s love partners is a sailor who, in the throes of passion, confuses Fanny about what might be called his sense of misdirection and which ‘door’ he is approaching. Fanny reports that the sailor uses nautical imagery in replying:

‘Pooh,’ says he, ‘my dear, any port in a storm.’

A–OK

The possible origins of OK have resulted in the world dividing into numerous factions, each of which believes their derivation to be the correct one.

A–OK has a slightly narrower reference base. In 1961, when American astronaut Alan Shepard was in suborbital space flight, he made at one point a particularly jubilant call of OK.

Back at the NASA base, Colonel John Powers misheard the call as A–OK. This had a certain logic to it – an amplification of satisfaction surpassing good old OK to mean ‘very OK’ or ‘beyond OK’, and Powers put the term about the base and the media before he had the opportunity to discuss it with Shepard in person.

Some confusion later arose about whether Shepard did actually say A–OK, or whether Powers misheard him.

Either way, those two are the term’s only begetters, with the added ‘A’ universally recognised as an ‘intensifier’. A–OK now means All OK.

Apple-pie order

Although claimed by Americans (‘as American as apple pie’), pies made with apples in England date back as far as Chaucer and beyond, well before a single apple tree grew in North America. But linguists assign the association of apple pies with neatness and order to the French language originally, and it may well have remained in French.

However, in 1780 the English version of the expression was launched by Admiral Sir William Pasley, whose published Sea Journals of HMS Sibyl contained his weekly plan:

Tuesdays and Fridays – exercise great guns and small arms;

Wednesdays and Saturdays – fire volleys and fumigate;

Mondays – air spare sails;

Thursdays – muster the men;

And their Persons Clean and in apple-pie order on Sundays.

Arm candy

The attractive woman, escorted by a man with whom she need not have any relationship, who creates an impression that arouses envy towards the man among those who see them together.

The origin of this term is attributed to journalist Marcia Froelke Coburn in the Chicago Tribune (21 August 1992) when commenting on Marilyn Monroe’s brief appearance (as George Sanders’ party partner) in the 1950 film All About Eve. Later the term achieved gender-equity and may refer to a good-looking man partnering a woman.

See also Ear candy. Both terms are related to ‘eye candy’, which surfaced in the mid-1980s and went into overdrive when Baywatch started on television in 1989. Eminent British etymologist John Ayto observes that ‘eye, ear, and arm candy’ may have developed from the 1930s slang term for cocaine: ‘nose candy’.

As fresh as paint

You are looking as fresh as paint; getting round again, wind and limb, eh?

As good as gold

In Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol (1843), Mrs Cratchitt asks:

‘And how did little Tim behave?’

‘As good as gold,’ answered Bob.

Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies

In the course of the complex plot of She Stoops to Conquer (1773), by Irish playwright Oliver Goldsmith, the character of Tony Lumpkin retrieves a casket of jewels and is asked how he achieved this. He answers:

Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no fibs.

Over the years, fibs became lies.

As long as they spell my name right

There are many and varied versions of this original line. It may be the ancestor of there being ‘no such thing as bad publicity’ – as long as the name is recognisable. Even more numerous than variations on the original line are the names of those who are supposed to have said it first: Mae West, Oscar Wilde, P.T. Barnum, Will Rogers, W.C. Fields, Mark Twain, American politician Tim Sullivan, Dame Nellie Melba, or Edith Head.

The variations have flowed from the original remark by American author, dancer and singer George M. Cohan. He was an undisputed star of musical theatre, but in 1912 word got round New York that Cohan was planning to appear in a straight play, which aroused curiosity.

His biographer John McCabe, in The Man Who Owned Broadway, reports that when a journalist queried Cohan, he replied:

I don’t care what you say about me, as long as you say something about me, and spell my name right.

Two years earlier, speaking to a gala dinner for 1500 theatre people, Cohan had also said: ‘I have only one request to make of you tonight ... Please mention my name as much as possible.’

Over time, Cohan’s remark may have morphed into the condensed version: ‘There is no such thing as bad publicity.’

At this point (or At this moment) in time

The expression may have come about with the development of space travel. In space it is not always possible to observe time measurements as they relate to an earthly clock, but in order that reports back to earth can be equated with terrestrial time-spans, a communiqué may be declared ‘at this point in time’, referring to the time in space.

But the term caught on among people who relish orotundity, i.e. unnecessarily bombastic or elaborate speech. One such appeared to be John Dean, an adviser to President Richard M. Nixon. During the widely publicised and televised Watergate hearings in 1973, Dean frequently said ‘at this point in time’, and the term rapidly went into popular usage – sometimes in a joking way, but sometimes not.

Axis of evil

Axis is a mathematical term describing ‘a straight line about which a body or geometric figure rotates’.

The first known use of the word axis to describe an alignment of nations was by Gyula Gömbös, the Premier of Hungary, in the early 1930s, referring to an axis that connected Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany with Hungary.

The term went into wider use when Italian premier Benito Mussolini made a public address on 1 November 1936 saying that the Berlin-Rome line was not an obstacle but an axis (asse in Italian) around which European states with a will to collaborate could revolve.

The axis of nations was mentioned in English in newspaper reports the following day, and in time became a familiar term during WW II as a collective description of Germany, Italy and Japan – the Axis Powers, as opposed to the Allied Powers: Britain, United States and Russia.

In 2002 David Frum was a speechwriter for President George W. Bush. He teamed the already familiar term axis with ‘hatred’, changing it to ‘evil’ for the President’s State of the Union address on 29 January that year. Referring to countries believed to sponsor terrorism and harbour weapons of mass destruction, the President’s speech declared:

States like these, and their terrorist allies, constitute an axis of evil, arming to threaten the peace of the world.

President Bush’s speech was widely reported and put the term axis of evil into common English usage.

B

Babes in the wood

The well-known tale is believed to be based on a real-life situation – two children left by their dying father with his evil brother who, wanting to get his hands on the children’s inheritance, takes them into a forest and abandons them. The first known telling of the story was in a 1595 ballad: The Children in the Wood, or the Norfolk Gentleman’s Last Will and Testament, by Thomas Millington.

Since then the story has appeared in dozens of versions – poems, story-books, a Walt Disney movie (which strayed from the original tale by introducing magical woodland elves), pantomimes and a sophisticated Cole Porter song (about two ‘babes’ who lack the innocence of the 1595 originals: ‘They have found that the fountain of youth/Is a mixture of gin and vermouth...’)

The title phrase of the original story gradually modified the children into babes and has become a commonplace term referring to anyone who seems innocent of whatever dangers surround them.

Backseat driver

As cars became more commonplace, so too did the impulse grow for passengers to give advice to the driver. Backseat drivers were first mentioned in a newspaper in 1921 (the Bismarck Tribune North Dakota) and defined as those who issue instructions, give advice and offer criticism.

The term reached a much wider international audience in 1930, when Jeeves and the Old School Chum by P.G. Wodehouse was published:

Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, no one more surprised than myself, the car let out a faint gurgle like a sick moose and stopped in its tracks ...